Extremes
by SwizzleKiss878
Summary: Can two people provide the comfort that each one needs? A classic GSRtype story with a sensory twist. Completed.
1. Chapter 1

She was loath to leave the warm embrace of the sheets around her body and the sweet kiss of her pillow on her cheek. Nevertheless, if she wanted a shower, she knew she had to get up now.

She was freezing; her fingers were numb and she swore the heat was broken in her apartment building, even though the weather had been relatively warm lately. The extra comforter on her bed hadn't helped, and she had slept a restless, impatient sleep. She hoped a blisteringly hot shower would thaw her blood a little.

As the scalding water persuaded the sticky sleep off of her body, she felt a little better; there was some feeling returning to her fingers. She was downright optimistic when she finished and was certain she had cleaned out the entire building's hot water supply for at least a month.

As she dressed, she felt that familiar tingle sneaking back into her toes and clambering its way up through the rest of her body, freezing her blood on its way. She dressed in layers to combat the icy fingers that dragged their way up and down her spine. It was hopeless, she thought, no matter how hard she tried she could not rid herself of the Jack Frost that had come to encircle her lately.

At work, she was the first one to the coffee pot. She poured herself a steaming cup and took a mouthful. It was pleasingly fiery on her tongue, and she swallowed eagerly in order to get another swig. She realized, though, that the fire that was her coffee was simply tepid ice water by the time it reached her stomach. Disgusted, she tried another sip; it had the same effect. She tossed the entire cup on her way to the breakroom for assignments.

Her supervisor wasn't here tonight, she realized, as the blonde swing shift supervisor, who was working a double tonight in order to cover for her colleague, handed her an assignment slip. The frigid brunette muttered a curt "thank you" on her way out of the building to the scene; the air conditioning was up way too high anyway.

…………

He paced around the kitchen waiting impatiently for the thermometer to beep once more. It did, and he read his temperature: 98.5, his normal body temperature. He sighed as he shook it and put it in his mouth once more; he was certain he had a fever. He went to the bathroom to search his medicine cabinet for an old-fashioned mercury thermometer as he waited for this reading to beep; these new-fangled digital things certainly were faster, but he wasn't sure if they were as accurate. He finally found a thermometer with mercury in it, replaced the digital one for the mercury one, and set an egg timer for three minutes. He didn't bother to read the digital readout he had received.

He grabbed a forensic journal and flipped to a random page as soon as he returned to his living room and was engrossed in a fascinating article about the forensic significance of bullet lead compositions when the timer beeped.

He couldn't believe this; the mercury level was strictly at 98.5 degrees Fahrenheit. He tried another reading and set the timer again, just to be sure, but he wasn't so hopeful anymore.

He absently remembered a quote about how the definition of insanity was trying something over and over again but expecting to get different results as the timer rang again. The level of the mercury hadn't changed, so he decided to put the thermometer away for a while.

It was still early enough to go into work; since he didn't have a fever, it was still a possibility, but all thoughts of work left his mind as he opened the door of the freezer. He chose a lemon-flavored Italian Ice, grabbed a spoon, and headed over to the couch.

The Discovery Channel was conveniently showing a special about the "Life and Mating Habits of the Polar Bear," so he settled in and took a big spoonful of Italian Ice. He soon discovered that the focus of the program was how the Polar Bears kept warm in their cold climate more so than their mating habits, and he felt his Italian Ice melting as soon as he had it on the spoon. He switched the channel to an old episode of _I Love Lucy_, but he didn't like the beach setting of the episode, so he turned off the hopeless invention. He tried reading more of his forensics journal as he greedily finished off his Italian Ice, but he didn't feel any better after he had put his spoon in the dishwasher.

He decided to go for a walk in the brisk night air; perhaps that would cool him off. Even though his overheated body protested, he threw an LVPD sweatshirt over his t-shirt and some tennis shoes on his feet. As he locked the front door behind him, he gratefully noted that the chilled night air held some definite cooling-off possibilities.

…………

Seeing as he never had a fever or any other symptoms of any sickness to begin with, he felt there was no excuse for not going to work the next night. He had slept a broken, fitful sleep even though he had taken his bedspread and most of his sheets off of his bed, and when he had showered he didn't think it had done any good, seeing as most of the water evaporated before it even hit his body. Even so, he got in his SUV and headed for work.

As he handed out assignments, he noticed that she had dressed in a heavy winter sweater, even though it was a warm spring night outside. He shrugged, thinking nothing of it; she was probably sick but refusing to take the night off again. He wondered if any of her thermometers worked, either.

Suddenly, he heard himself partner himself with her for a double homicide, even though they were shorthanded already. He saw her give him a look of confusion, but she looked away almost immediately after he locked eyes with her.

She noticed the temperature of the room drop a couple of degrees. As if she wasn't cold enough, his eyes seemed to make her feel colder; he hadn't given her any sort of reserved look, yet the frosty shade of blue that his eyes naturally were seemed to be enough to make her shiver.

"Do you want to drive?" He asked. They were suddenly in the parking lot and she didn't have the slightest clue as to how they had gotten there.

"Uhh, you can." She headed for his SUV.

He looked around. "Uhh, where is your car, anyway?"

She shrugged. "The engine overheated, it's in the shop." Even though the day had been warm and her car had been parked in the sun, she had been certain that blasting the heater only drained the engine of heat instead of overheating it. Why wouldn't it start, then? The puddle of antifreeze left in her parking space after her SUV was towed had been enough to answer her question. She soon learned that, after all, the public transportation system wasn't all that horrible.

They were soon on their way to the MGM Grand where their case awaited them. He was straining with the air conditioning system; it was on full blast and it didn't seem to be helping with his so-called "fever."

She was visibly shivering in the passenger seat. He glanced her way and realized how cold she was; he was now certain that she was ill.

"You okay?" He asked.

"Eh, I'll live." She answered with a weary eye on the air conditioning unit.

He nodded his head towards the back of the vehicle. "There's a sweatshirt in the backseat if you want it."

She started to say that she could survive without it, but thought better of it as they approached their scene. Not only were their vics outside, but she thought she heard her supervisor say that they were in the Grand Pool Complex. She snatched the LVPD sweatshirt and put it on as she got out of the vehicle.

All throughout the night she waited for the warmth of the sweatshirt to eventually wear off, seeing as nothing else had helped her thaw out.

It didn't.

In fact, the more she thought about it, the warmer she was. She wondered briefly if she was cured; maybe she had caught a 24-hour bug, after all. She felt like she could finally function normally again and the rest of the case went smoothly.

…………

He caught her on her way into the parking lot.

"Hey, do you need a ride home, seeing as you have no vehicle to speak of at the moment?"

She took a despondent glance towards the bus stop. "Nah, I'll be okay."

He stopped in front of her. "I don't want anything happening to you."

She blinked. "I'm fine."

He stepped closer and made a point of looking her in the eye. His fever broke. "I don't want anything happening to you."

She stared right back, just as harshly. "I have my gun, I'll be fine." Oddly enough, the blue of his eyes wasn't having an effect on her.

He didn't blink. "I don't want anything happening to you."

She took a breath and broke eye contact. She wasn't much for bugs, but a centipede ambling alongside her left shoe was suddenly fascinating. Then, in a low tone, "Thanks."

He cocked his confused head to the side, but before he could ask her to repeat her answer, he was following her to his SUV.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: No infringement intended on CSI, CBS, or anything related (so please don't sue!). Just exercising my creative muscles with my favorite non-couple.

**Chapter 2**

He actually felt awkward. Awkwardly sitting on her russet couch with a vivid mélange of earth tones dancing along the throw pillows, awkwardly holding a Yale coffee mug that one of her friends had apparently sent her as a gag gift in her college years filled almost to the brim with steaming coffee that looked as if it were boiling in his sweltering grasp, awkwardly looking into it while suppressing the urge to loosen his collar in the sauna that was her apartment.

Things weren't supposed to be this way. Things weren't awkward with her. Things were designed to be either completely casual and relaxed with each other or utterly tense and apprehensive, but never awkward. He cleared his throat.

She looked up from the depths of her tea and straight into his eyes. Immediately he felt more comfortable and the space was actually a living room as opposed to a steam room. He couldn't remember why he had come up to her apartment in the first place.

She couldn't remember why she had invited him up to her apartment in the first place. It didn't matter; he was here now, and she had to deal with it one way or another. He spoke first.

"You stopped shivering."

"I did." She was mildly shocked that he had noticed.

"You sure you aren't sick?"

She shrugged. "I could be, but then I'd be saying that my doctor was wrong and all of my thermometers are broken."

A corner of his mouth lifted and he snorted lightly.

"What?"

"What is the world coming to when all the thermometers in reach don't work?"

She smiled, and the way his eyes sparkled at her—just for her, she liked to dream—invited a warm tingle to settle on her toes. She didn't notice him rise and go to the counter to refill his mug.

"Here, I'll do that for you." She quickly followed him and outstretched her arm for the pot.

His hand was already on the handle, and their triceps touched. Neither pulled away.

She started to feel her blood circulate again; she had forgotten that blood wasn't supposed to be solid ice and she jumped at the sensation.

Her arm felt like a chilly blast of air from an air-conditioned store on a scorching summer day, and goose bumps rose where it made contact with his skin.

He shot a sideways glance her way. "You all right over there?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" She turned her eyes to him with a hint of a challenge on her face. He was reminded of chocolate ice cream.

She was startled at his calm expression. His eyes made her think of a tranquil ocean right before the vicious storm, and she gave an involuntary shiver. She didn't have it in her to argue with him anymore.

His face didn't change as he leaned in towards her. In fact, he cocked his head a little and let his eyes wander over her face.

She waited.

He parted his lips.

They both inhaled.

"Stick out your tongue."

She raised an eyebrow at his strange request but did what she was told, eyes never leaving his.

He raised his index finger, wet it on her tongue, and ever so briefly touched it to her cheek, all the while never changing his expression.

Her tongue and face were ice and it felt pleasantly relieving.

His finger warmed her to her core.

He held up a finger with an eyelash on it.

"Blow."

_Boy, if I had a nickel for every time I heard that,_ she mused. She made a wish and did what he asked.

He caught her amused expression and raised an eyebrow of his own after he recovered from the tingling sensation he got from the icy blast of air on his finger. They made eye contact, and he suddenly forgot the sarcastic remark on his lips. Her eyes sparkled with humor and a hint of challenge, as if she was daring him to comment.

But there was something else.

He had completely forgotten about their coffee mugs until he spilled hers by setting his hand on the counter. He felt like an idiot.

She now had her eyes focused on something on the counter behind him, and muttered something about paper towels. He reached back to grab them and tore off a couple of sheets, all the while getting more and more embarrassed with himself. He just wanted to get out of there.

She ripped some paper towels off the roll for herself and bent down to mop up what had dripped onto the floor. The coffee was still hot and should have burned her fingers, but the spot where her arm had made contact with his still tingled a little.

As he finished wiping the liquid on the counter, he casually glanced downward. It looked like she was looking for some new and exciting piece of evidence until her eyes turned up to him and made contact. _How did she know…?_

Her hand that was holding the paper towel froze in mid-wipe as she vaguely recognized the look in his eye. He wasn't holding anything back; granted, he looked surprised, but there was something else that warmed her up, too.

She recognized it because she had felt that way too. Often.

He didn't move as she slowly straightened up to put her used towels on the counter. That age-old fight-or-flight adrenaline hormone was kicking in and he seriously contemplated just walking away, home to a cold shower that would cool him down in more ways than one.

He also debated a slightly more dangerous move that would definitely not be a cold shower.

_But what if it's too late?_ He wondered with sudden alarm. Her voice rang loud and clear in his mind: _by the time you figure it out…_

Then again, she wasn't moving either. She looked quite busy collecting all of the used paper towels. Boy, she certainly spent a lot of time gathering used paper towels.

He wanted to talk to her. To explain why his head was so far up his ass—or in the microscope, as one of his coworkers had once put it.

But she was finishing up with the spill on the counter and the paper towels.

_Screw it,_ he told himself. And with that, he reached out and gently grabbed her chin, turning it towards him.

The look in her eyes spoke volumes. Confusion was certainly the most predominant, but he also noticed exhaustion, vulnerability, defeat, what he liked to believe was lust—or, dare he think it, love?—as well as sorrow. And sheer terror.

And what he saw scared him.

"Why are you doing this?" The feeble voice belonged to the now-shivering woman in front of him. His heart sank. Before he could think, he grazed his lips over hers and observed her reaction.

She looked like a deer in headlights. A deer in headlights with a little more of the lust showing in her eyes. He pulled her closer and kissed her more passionately this time, noting that she wasn't pulling away. She was pulling him ever closer and seemed to be enjoying herself immensely from what she was doing to his mouth. Her body was freezing, and he enveloped as much of it as he could for as long as he could. She felt good, absorbing all of his excess heat and replacing it with a cool, solid comfort. He dimly wondered what his pulse was at the moment, but he realized that he really didn't care, not as long as he had this breathtaking woman in his arms.

He was warm. Oh God, was he warm. She tried to get as close to him as she could as her body returned to its normal temperature, slowly but steadily. He seemed to be pouring heat into her from his kisses, and she couldn't get enough of it. It was liquid, running down her spine and into her arms and legs. Right down to her toes, chasing the ice water away. She hazily speculated where the paper towels had ended up once she had dropped them, but forgot all about the damp pages of disposable cloth when his tongue swept at her lips and entered her mouth.

The paper towels could wait.

**Fin**


End file.
